


Pull Me Out From Inside

by TinyMoons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Death of a loved one, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Pining, References to Minor Character Illness, Road Trips, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Teacher Castiel, more angst and Dean being a general idiot, references to self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyMoons/pseuds/TinyMoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is stretched paper thin; his resolve collapsing under the heat of leaden-eyes and expectation, very much akin to the walls in which he calls his home. He had a plan: to work hard as a mechanic, the only thing he believed himself capable of doing, and scrimp as much money as he could muster in order to save his old childhood home and the people who were most closest and dearest to him. But somewhere along the way that plan falls through. He meets a man who upends his entire life and being, starting with the flesh on his own back. </p><p>This is about coming out of your own flesh, being dragged and crawling your way out of the prison that you create for yourself. The place that you consider to be a safe haven but the simple yet drastic act of hiding away causes more damage than cure. Dean is a brother, friend, son and mechanic- he doesn't see himself as anything other than what he can do for people. That's until he's forced to see otherwise. Castiel made him look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull Me Out From Inside

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is very much unedited as of yet but I was entirely impatient with posting it so I apologise in advance if there are any mistakes (which of course there are bound to be many!). Also, I suck at summaries, I'll probably augment it soon because it really doesn't explain what I want this story to be about. Again, I royally suck at them. 
> 
> I may add more additional tags as the fic progresses but I'll always warn for anything that may cause upset on the chapter headings. 
> 
> Also, I wish to update once a week, I only hope that work allows me to do that but that's the plan. Anyway, hope you enjoy the first chapter my wee dears!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger opened his mouth as if to say something in the way of explanation but seemed to have thought better of it and chewed on his bottom lip nervously instead, a silent look of deliberation on his face. Oh man, he _better_ start talking.

His legs sprawled in front of his body like heavy weights, the deadened numbness reaching as far as the tips of his toes and the tingling stretch of skin on the soles of his feet where little of the fading sensation remained. Nothing less would be expected from sitting for a good part of the afternoon under The Old Oak Tree. For as long as he could remember it had been a place amongst his favourite haven though such a measure of delight hadn’t seemed to resonate the air of his surroundings. No less was his greeting than for the bark against his arched back to dig attentively under his shoulder blades, not so much the pleasant reward past from acquaintances to old, wearisome friends. Though despite this, it seemed too easy for him to waste away into seemingly nothingness with little else to amuse him than the quiet hum of static air and mocking twitter of birds.

Dean would ever admit that such a place was indeed one of hiding because those were the kinds of things for children and the frightened and he was neither of them. He thought he’d welcome an invitation to be troubled, surrender almost with enthusiasm unto the unruly bend of uncertainty and fitful consequence that pains his disposition to be without. However instead, at least for now, he allows his leaden eyes and head to drop lazily under the fierce scrutiny of the sun.

The sensations weren’t entirely unwelcome of course. Not the numbness, nor his reddening sun-burnt face or the feel of skin stretched tight and thin, drying in the baked air against his bones. It was altogether oddly satisfying to feel that way. For his body to react like that just by sitting back and allowing for it to happen, to overcome him and bite and nip at his discontented limbs.

There was a impressive weariness that beat at him, an ache in his bones that strained his joints, though the tremor in his breath was something fresh and unfamiliar to him. He couldn’t quite figure out what was so different from any of the other times he’d let himself go but for now he simply didn’t care. The fever in his muscles ebbed a dull ache at a magnitude that far surpassed any feeling that he was used to, proportionate to the vastness of the country greens surrounding him. But he clung to the sensation, let the delayed pain creep back into his body like a snake inching wearily through tall, cool grass on hot summer noons

It was not so much that he thought he deserved it, but rather he felt somewhat relieved in his submission, as though he was finally allowed to relax and let the world consume him. Experience had taught him that that’s all the world endeavoured in doing and although that thought should make his skin burn hot it only lightened his heart because that would mean that he’d already lost. Fighting against an unbeatable tide would render his feeble attempts at quietude futile, so he’d let the waves take him. Fill his lungs with their salt and stain his eyes with his own tears, the stubborn pools failing to fall freely down his cheeks.

It therefore was of no surprise that he felt trapped in the redundancy his daily routine, though underneath it all he truly felt gifted in his fortunes. As a mechanic is was granted with the opportunity in fixing neglected cars into the things of beauty as they once were before their careless owners failed in looking after them. It gave him a great sense of delight, filling his chest with such pride and teasing a cocky grin from his lips whenever he’d have a particularly good job well done. However, this didn’t abate his willingness to invite immediate change, his most ardent dreams of something more.

Often they were quite simply desires for a home with solid furnishings and steady running water. A bigger and softer bed, one that didn’t cause him back ache from the press of spindly springs against his tired bones. His own current bed causing him no more discomfort than what the old fold-out camper bed had been for the six months that he’d had it. Though that particular one thankfully, and most suspiciously, dismantled itself one day when he’d gone out to replenish his dwindling beer supply only to discover later that evening that parts of it had gone “missing” forcing him to purchase a new bed with the money left in the envelope on his bedsit.

All courtesy of his younger brother, Sam, who’d visited of course, though he couldn’t bring himself to actually use the money to its original purpose. Instead, with his insistence, he’d taken the overgrown sasquatch and his lovely fiance, Jess, to lunch. In the end, he settled for a less than comfortable lump of a thing, the only regret was the look that it left on Sam’s face having always complained that Dean never treated himself. _Treat_ being the word Dean would use for it, his brother on the other hand named such things as “items of necessity”- as if Dean’s own personal comfort was of a degree of importance though he couldn’t fathom to whom that would apply to.

Dean would often stamp out such thoughts of the more selfish luxuries, sometimes this involved alcohol, other times the distraction meant calling up his baby brother or shacking up with some red-headed dream who’d happened to have had one too many martinis.

It was enough for now, his job paid his bills and helped with his savings but his flat was by now thoroughly lived in. On one of the frequent late nights staring at the ceiling on the accursed bed, thinking through the quiet darkness, it came to him with a stomach of knots. A vision of a man of 50 or 60 years old, hair tinged with grey and movements clumsy and frailing. Was that going to be him? Still overworking himself at the garage on a minimum wage with a less than comfortable flat? It just didn’t sit well in his bones, there would be something missing and he was all too aware of it.

He owed a lot to Bobby Singer, his boss that owned the garage and much appreciated step-in father, so any thoughts about finally sucking it up and resigning to follow his heart had been fleeting. This didn’t stop him from window shopping though.

It had not all been for nothing. Though some of the people he grew relationships with there drove him crazy most of the time, namely Jo Harvelle and his Why-Do-I-Even-Bother friend Gabriel Novak, he considered himself quite lucky. Fulfilled wasn’t something that he was able to attribute to himself but he was content. Content would have to be good enough and who knows, maybe that’s all he’ll ever need.

It wasn’t the first time Dean had run to this place, although he was almost never alone when he did so. It used to be his brother who’d keep him company, one of the few that he’d allow to follow him whenever he felt the need to let go, when the knot in his chest became too tight. Back before he was forced to grow up too quickly, before things didn’t feel so messed up.

Except that this time it was different. It was exactly Sam who he had walked out from a few hours previously, and it was exactly Sam that he thought he couldn’t much bear to see let alone grant him admittance to one of his finer childish moments. Though it would kill him to admit it, he couldn’t deny that he was being a little melodramatic, all 26 years of the man that he was.

But there isn’t a soul on the earth that isn’t unreasonable at least on occasion, he reasoned with himself, and so what if he slammed the door on the way out of the front door? After all it was his home, and Sam had no right saying what he did. No matter how right he was, or thought he was. Still didn’t excuse him butting into his life, trying to force all kinds of nonsense and “words of reason” onto him. Always with the same crease in his brow and puppy dog eyes that drove Dean insane.

Dean was a grownass man and he could do what he pleased and if that was piling more crap on top of the existing problem then so be it. He was good at that. It was his choice, no one else’s. All that he wished for was for people to just mind their own damned business, play in traffic or something, just not be trying to persuade Dean to talk about his “feelings”.

His memory decided to make a mock of him as he thought of those younger days. The sun seemed to be just as unforgiving as if this were the only place on earth that didn’t submit to change. Like a constant, unwavering thing that stayed just the same, like Dean, too stubborn to move on from that summer. The last day on earth before everything ceased to make sense.

With temperatures reaching as high as 108, it had been the hottest day in the summer. Since it was never fair insisting that children spend time on their own together without the affections of their elders, the first family outing in a long time had been arranged. The younger Sam and Dean were promised a trip to the beach and so the two brothers had spent that early morning making little flags out of twigs from the garden and coloured bits of paper to decorate their sandcastles with.

He remembered how Sammy had kicked up a fuss that whole morning waiting for their parents to come home and bring them on this “new adventure” they were told about. He was only turning three and didn’t have as much patience as Dean being the eldest, not like he actually needed patience. That kid could have bent anyone to his will with just a look from those doleful puppy browns. Even still to this day such a look tugged at a special place in Dean’s heart no matter how much the older brother denied it. Younger siblings no doubt have a way of softening even the most scarred of hearts.

“Uncle” Bobby had all but shooed the youngsters out of the house to occupy themselves in the front garden in their wait instead of having to scold little Sam in every instance of him slapping his chubby little hands against the window in the front room excitedly, leaving sticky fingerprints whenever he thought he heard his daddy’s car pull into the driveway.

Dean knew he wasn’t aloud to venture far from the house without an adult let alone sneak out of view from those who’d happen to peer out of the window to check on the boys making sure that they were not up to anything they shouldn’t, which a lot of the time they were, heedless to the warnings they were given.

Once again their parent’s guidance had fell on deaf ears because Dean had plans of his own. He hated seeing Sam look so miserable and he knew how anxious he grew whenever their parents had errands to run and they were left in the care of Bobby in the mean time. So taking his younger brother’s hand, squeezing tightly in reassurance whenever Sam protested unsure behind him, he followed the light trail from the back garden that was by now overgrown with grass and weeds, to the end of a neighbouring field. There they were greeted with a tremendous plush of leaves that rose from the earth like great, emerald umbrellas.

Dean felt a sense of accomplishment when Sam squealed with excitement and began pulling on one of the larger plants, trying in vain to uproot the deep red stalks from the earth. Sam wasn’t as strong as his older brother and Dean laughed at how Sam scrunched up his nose and pouted up at Dean as if it was his fault the plant didn’t comply.

“No Sammy, look don’t be pulling like that, hold it at the bottom…” he had instructed through giggles, bending down to wrap his fingers around the base of the stalk Sam had assaulted. “See silly, like this-- ha!” he cried out, holding the vegetable out from his chest in his triumph, his smile wide at the awestruck look on young Sam’s face.

“See? ‘member mamma says she’s making jam for us so we can puts it in pies to make it even _more_ tasty?”

Sam nodded, his eyes wide in complete concentration to every syllable Dean uttered, giving his older brother his undivided attention.

“Well this is rhu…rhu- _rhubert_ ”, he stammered having not fully grasped its name, “and we can cut it up and put sugar on it and eat it…but pies are nicer--no but only when it’s clean Sammy!” Dean yanked the rhubarb off his younger brother to stop him taking a bite out of it. “You gotta wait, ‘member what I telling you Sammy,” he warned, wagging his finger in front of his brother’s face. Though the mirth in his tone remained and nothing could help the little grin from creeping back onto his face. Staying cross with Sam was a futile, impossible task. Sam was just an adorable if not annoying little brother.

The brothers had spent the majority of the morning and early afternoon uprooting the rhubarb stalks and placing them in neat piles at the foot of the field to carry home to show off later. The day had waned on without any word from John and Mary Winchester. The boys weren’t too far from their home and would have been able to hear the distinctive rumble of their father’s classic ’67 Impala indicating their arrival. No such joy. And no such joy ever since.

Dean could have stayed in his daze forever, sinking into the wistful noon, if right in that moment a shock of water hadn’t seemingly descended from the heavens to soak his shirt through making him yelp in surprise and jump out off his skin. He shot his eyes open, wincing at the way the sudden light momentarily blinded him and prickled at his now freshly sun-blushed skin.

“What the hell?” he huffed, moving uneasily as he got used to the stretch and pull of his idled muscles, squeezing his eye ducts under his fingers as he grumbled in confusion. Blinking a few times, it wasn’t until he shook himself off and thread his fingers through his now dampened hair did he notice the source of his attack thanks to his newly acquired clarity.

A man of similar age hovered over him, squinting slightly from the assault of the sun and peered at him shyly, looking flushed. Dean nearly yelped in surprise again, his brain was having a hard time keeping up with what he was seeing it appeared. The man fiddled nervously with something in his hands, drawing Dean’s attention to the half empty bottle of water there. Dean eyed it suspiciously.

_Did this dick just seriously throw his water over him?_

The stranger’s expression was curious and didn’t seem to hold any menace though this simple fact didn’t manage to abate Dean’s annoyance but only made his skin burn hotter. Had the heat finally addled his brain, because he was imagining things, right? He shifted uncomfortably, groaning softly as he let his eyes slide closed, willing the day just to be over with. When he redeemed himself, he found the man’s eyes still trained on him, which would have creeped him out if he weren’t so done in from the days earlier events. Or the whole damn year.

Looking up, he caught the stranger’s eye and the other man finally offered him a weary smile which Dean didn’t return. He still hadn’t quite recovered from his sleeplessness from the night before and everything on top of that just made it feel ten times worse. When Dean gets pissed, he drinks and, depending on the level of bitchiness his brother was dishing out, he doesn’t sleep well either, if at all. His mouth felt like cotton and his head felt like it was being cleaved in two so he just continued to lay against the tree awkwardly trying to bring his consciousness up to speed.

Taking in meagre details at a time seemed to work and for a moment he amused himself at how the other man’s darker hair stood up in all directions catching the light to give the impression of a halo. He inwardly snorted at the comparison. This seemed to snap whatever daze the stranger was in because he opened his mouth as if to say something in the way of explanation but seemed to have thought better of it. Instead he chewed on his bottom lip nervously, a silent look of deliberation on his face.

_Oh man, he better start talking._

“Dude, what the hell?” he exclaimed a second time, his voice hoarse from dehydration. The other man took a step back, unsure, frowning deeply.

“I thought you could use some water. The sun… your skin was turning a very unfortunate shade,” he replied seriously.

“So what, you thought you’d just chuck a bottle over me? Come on man. Not cool.” He mumbled, finally moving to fully stand, though this took more effort than what he was prepared for. The other man was a little shorter than he was which Dean took to his advantage using those few inches to fuel his confidence and glare down at him. As much as a disoriented man could glare that is. There didn’t seem to be any threat to this man, giving his hunched shoulders and downcast eyes laboured from the unease of Dean’s affronted stance. All the same, it just seemed to frustrate Dean more. The stranger just continued to peek up at him through a row of thick eyelashes, as though bashful.

How out of it was he not to notice the guy creep up on him? He had been so worked up from his fight with Sam that he had succumbed to his exhaustion and he supposed the heat didn’t help. The heat really didn’t help- as he stood he felt himself swoon slightly off balance, his shoulders slackening. How long had he actually been sitting there?

After a moment he thought of how odd the situation actually was. There he was, minding his own business soaking in the suns rays for lack of anything better to do when he was blatantly attacked by a strange man, practically in the middle of nowhere with no real civilisation for at least a couple of miles at both ends of the dirt road that brought him here. And this man he now knew was armed with at least a half empty bottle of water. Should he start screaming now? There was that melodrama again.

“I saw your car parked at the side of the road. I thought someone might have broken down,” the smaller man started suddenly as if reading his mind. “I’m here to offer my assistance.” He bowed his head forwards as if expecting his first orders. A pang of annoyance riveted through Dean at the man’s simple gesture.

_Well shit._

“No need to assist man, just enjoying the sun,” Dean grumbled, inspecting his newly dampened shirt. It was already starting to dry off from the intense heat. “Then you showed up but at least my shirts drying so I can’t complain about driving home in my baby wet. Baby doesn’t like to get wet,” he added after a moment, chancing a wink because Dean just couldn’t quite help himself.

The man just tilted his head, his tongue lapping at his bottom lip presumably in contemplation of Dean’s words. “Your baby?” he asks, his voice like gravel on concrete.

“Yeah, you know. My car...baby.” Dean clears his throat unnecessarily because wow, this is awkward.

It was then he fully took in the man in front of him. He wore a dress shirt, of which he had rolled up the sleeves, black trousers that seemed a little long and loose on the leg, and over his arm hung what appeared to be a tan coat. A few stray strands of hair clung to his forehead from the beads of sweat there making him look just as uncomfortable as Dean felt.

What struck Dean the most though were his eyes which seemed to emanate a kind of sadness from years known to grief, the way they drifted off and glazed over slightly as if he was seeing something other than the expanse of country fields beyond them. He looked tired and, even though he looked just as young as Dean, a weariness ebbed in his eyes giving the impression of years long lived.

Dean was reminded suddenly of a younger Sam, how lost he’d been and how helpless Dean had felt being unable to stop what was happening with Ruby. Looking at this man now he didn’t feel any contempt towards him, though there still was an uneasiness about him. Still, he chose to ignore it for now, instead trusting his instincts in favour of working his way into a more stable state of mind as opposed to worrying- because seriously the black spots in his vision were starting to freak him out.

This man really didn’t seem to mean him any harm, in fact he looked rather awkward standing just a few inches from Dean, his eyes flickering nervously between his eyes and some place around his forehead and nose as if unsure of where to place his gaze. His lack of personal space was also a little unnerving if Dean admitted it, but it seemed that the other guy was unaware of it or if he was then he simply didn’t care. Maybe the guy was innocently out for a walk enjoying the sun, though he doubted it.

The only reason he hadn’t taken offence to the man so far was because he just couldn’t shake the feeling that the guy was just as fucked up as he was. So against his better judgement he’d let his unexpected presence slip at least for now.

Dean would feel like a massive hypocrite for judging the man, he wasn’t exactly sure what his own excuse would be for being here so maybe it wasn’t best to ask questions of his own in case that backfired or lead to the man’s own questioning. Afterall, for all he knew this stranger had as much purpose as Dean to be there. At the arrival of that thought, he gave himself a hypothetical pat on the back for not being a judgemental prick, Sam would be proud. Something in his chest fluttered painfully at that thought.

“My apologies if I have given any offence, sir. In hindsight I can see how asking you if you wanted me to provide you with the water would have been a better move.” He finally spoke, with a dramatic roll of his eyes he added, “Well, I suppose offering to pour water over you would also have been poor judgement but I saw you just lying there and I didn’t know what to think, I didn’t realise that you were merely resting. I swear, I just kind of…reacted.”

Despite himself, Dean felt the side of his mouth twitch in amusement. So the poor bastard thought he was out cold. To save himself he huffed out a soft laugh deciding to rescue the other man from his babbling. It was oddly endearing and did nothing for the odd leaps his chest. “Hey man, its fine. No harm done, next time just warn a guy before you go all Niagara Falls.”

“I am quite sorry,” he said again earnestly, seemingly determined to worry a hole through his bottom lip. “Although in fairness you did give me a fright from thrashing around the way that you did, I thought I would have to give you CPR to get a response out of you at the very least.”

This one earned Dean a full-bodied laugh, the sound taking him by surprise. “Did I hear you right, _I_ gave you a fright?” He shook his head amused, his smile broadening. “Aw man, you really are something else.” A small smile played on the stranger’s lips and Dean found that he quite liked it there, it suited him better than the perpetual frown he’d previously been wearing.

“Well this was nice but yeah, I don’t know about you but I’m getting out of this heat,” Dean says after a few awkward moments of which he was sure that the guy was silently challenging him to a stare-off. He made no move to leave though, feeling pinned to the spot by the man’s gaze. It would have been very effective if he were indeed a serial killer, maybe he’d send Dean into a trance and that would be the end of him. He was being paranoid, there was no way he was getting his ass handed to him by some nerdy scrawny guy whose pants didn’t even fit.

“That is a good idea,” he replied, inclining his head and turning on his heel. Dean noticed that his shirt clung to his back and shoulders from sweat, his black trousers hung loose on his narrow hips, as he made his way back through the trampled weeds.

“Hey, hold on just a second!” Dean jogged to catch up with the man, grabbing his arm to steer him around, meeting a pair of wide, startled eyes. A breeze rustled through the trees around them, bellowing their clothes that fought to embrace their dampened limbs. “Just a moment, um….” Um, what? For some reason Dean didn’t want them to part ways just yet though he couldn’t fathom why.

It wasn’t as though he had any right to know this man or to ask why he was here or where he came from. And he certainly didn’t have the right or cause to know where he was going or to plead with him to stay put. But that didn’t seem to stop him from wanting it. This surprised him as he was normally far more reserved or just didn’t care enough to request an explanation or to desire company. Especially since the reason he came out here in the first place was to escape it. But something burned in his belly that felt suspiciously like fear. Logically, there was nothing to be afraid of but Sam’s words still rang clear in his mind. This, he supposed, is what possessed him to reach out and seize the bared forearm of a stranger.

The blue eyed man, Dean now noticed in their close proximity, bowed his head to where Dean’s hand rested, a crease forming between his brows. “Uh, sorry,” Dean said stiffly and removed the contact. “So, do you have anywhere to be? I could give you a lift, I’m headed into town if that’s any good to you?” The mechanic shrugged, biting his lip, a flame of heat suddenly igniting in his belly. Dean didn’t normally do nervous but today wasn’t exactly turning out to be a typical day in any respect so he could work with it.

“I don’t wish to be any further trouble to you, I really don’t mind walking.”

“Wait, you walked all the way out here?” Dean replied incredulously, quirking his brow. “Where are you from anyways? I don’t remember ever seeing you.”

“Yes I walked, I needed the, uh, head space.”

“Huh, that makes two of us.” He wondered if Blue Eyes had deflected his question on purpose but decided he wouldn’t press on it. “Naw, come on, I’ll give you a lift.” He clapped the smaller man’s back lightly indicating that he already made his mind up on the matter. Stepping around him, he made his way to where he parked his car. His head was finally starting to clear, the fog lifting from his mind, though he knew he was going to have a bitch of a headache come nightfall. But that’s what the joys of whiskey was for he reminded himself. The thought of Sam’s perpetual bitch-face came to mind making him smirk.

Dean didn’t bother to check whether or not the man had decided to follow him. Somehow he knew he would. If he were the guy he was sure that he’d run in the opposite direction but that was only because Dean pictured himself as a badass. Sure enough, a few moments later he heard the soft shuffling of timid footsteps on rough soil and sun-dried grass.

“You have a beautiful car.” The stranger almost barely uttered when he caught up to where Dean was now leaning against his pride and joy, smirk fully evident, with his arms folded across his chest.

“Yeah she is, isn’t she?” Bouncing back into the full standing position, he opened to passenger door and indicated for the man to get inside. Eventually he did, but not before giving Dean an indecipherable look and narrowing his eyes as if trying to get into Dean’s mind itself. Dean replied with his best cocky grin to which the man rolled his eyes. Dean counted that as a victory.

Once they were both seated inside, Dean was struck with the realisation that he hadn’t even asked for the guy’s name and he had already invited him in without any real thought as to who this stranger actually was. What was missing in his common sense today? “Name’s Dean, by the way,” he said, looking over at the man sitting next to him. He had shrunk into the leather seat, running his hands over his too-dark trousers for such a heat, probably relieving his palms from some of the perspiration.

“I’m Castiel.” He reached out a hand for Dean to take but then must have thought better of it because instead he pushed the bottle he still had from before under Dean’s nose and offered, “Water?”

  
He looked so helpless and big eyed that Dean couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it all was and then all the harder at the growing blush on cas-something’s cheeks and neck.

“Water, huh? Naw, I think I’m okay. Put the weapon down.” He mocked, raising his hands in defence. The soft tut from Cas not escaping his notice.

“So, where’re we headed?”


End file.
